Back Again
by BeccaRobinsonUSA8
Summary: Dexter has just killed Yates, Deb saw what happened, and now they both have to move forward. Takes place after Season 8 episode 5 "This Little Piggy". Rated M mostly for language.


Allllllrighty. I'm like super tired, and stayed up all night writing this, so it's probably full of mistakes LOL. I'm in the process of watching Dexter season 8 right now, as are most people. I had given up on it for awhile, but decided to catch back up with the show, and I'm actually glad I did. This season is really great. I love the complexity of Dexter and Deb's relationship this season as they struggle to find each other again. With that being said, this fic. picks up after the episode "This Little Piggy", the same night after Dexter, Deb, and Dr. Vogel dump Yate's body off Dexter's boat ;) Hope you enjoy!

_Family._

Whatever Harry had told me about it, whatever I had heard about it in books and seen about it in countless movies, it's a lie, an understatement to what it truly means. And maybe I still don't really understand all of it, but I know that I can have one, that it exists in my life. My fucked up life. Ever since Harry rescued me from that shipping container, he told me I would never be normal, that I couldn't have a life of my own, not as long as the dark passenger controlled me. The truth is, the dark passenger doesn't control me. That was just something I always thought was real. My dark passenger was, for the longest amount of time, the only thing that was real to me. Brian, my brother, was just a hallucination of the kind of killer I wanted to be. Rita and the kids were just there as a cover up, as well as my job. And now, even my darkness is betraying me. I can't seem to kill without the guilt following behind me. The guilt that has been eating away at me ever since my sister walked into that church the day I killed Travis Marshall. Throughout my life, the only thing that's been real is my connection with Deb. Somehow we've gone from beers and steaks on the couch to covering up murders together. She'd joined me on my boat, something I usually preferred to do without the company of anyone, and watched me drop Yate's body into the ocean. I had kept my eyes on her the entire time, as if I was asking for her sense of approval. She didn't object; she didn't even say a word, but I saw something stirring around in her eyes. Acceptance, maybe. Her hands had been trembling slightly, but she wasn't scared.

"I'm glad this is all over now," Dr. Vogel sits on the edge of the couch. We're at Deb's house, as Vogel's is probably still covered in shattered glass from when Yate's broke the window. And my place is off limits; especially with Jamie and Harrison going in and out.

"Me too." I am glad I decided to help her instead of turn away. After all, it is what ended up bringing Deb and me back together. My sister is sitting across from me, fumbling with the cloth on one of the pillows. She hasn't spoken since we got back to her place.

"Shall we call it a night?" Vogel asks, looking in Deb's direction, but she doesn't respond.

"You can have the couch," I say, standing up, and Vogel mimics me.

"I'll just get my stuff out of the bedroom." I watch her carefully as she leaves. What does she really want? It has to be more than just the desire to help me, but I decide to push this problem to the back of my mind for now. It seems like my sister is in need of some attention.

"Deb?"

She seems startled by my voice, but she doesn't answer me. All I can hear is the ceiling fan above us. "Are you okay?"

"Why are you fucking asking me that?" Not the response I was hoping for, but at least it's something.

"I don't know, I killed someone right in front of you today, last time I did that you went off the deep end," I tell her.

"I told you I was fine, didn't I?"

"You also told me that when you were smoking pot and drinking," I muse. She lets out a sigh, the typical Debra way of saying I can't believe we're having this fucking conversation again. "I want you to be okay."

"Why don't you just leave me the fuck alone?" Vogel cracks the bedroom door open, eavesdropping on the situation. I pretend not to see her out of the corner of my eye.

"Fine," I mumble to Deb. I head for the bedroom. Vogel walks past me, but I don't say a word, just slam the door behind me. I throw my shirt across the room where it lands by another pile of Deb's dirty laundry she hasn't picked up. My head's barely hit the pillow by the time sleep overcomes me...but it isn't for very long.

I hear noises. Footsteps. The alarm clock on the nightstand beside me flashes 2:32 a.m. It's the predator inside me that makes me alert. I'm used to be woken up in the middle of the night by Harrison, but I'm not at my apartment tonight. The bedroom door swings open, and my muscles instantly relax when I see who it is.

Deb.

"What's wrong?" I ask her, my voice cracking a little. Without hesitation she's across the room and practically on top of me, wrapping her frail arms around my neck. I breathe in her scent, relish this moment because it's been a long time since I've had her arms around me, since I've been this close to her. And I was beginning to think I would never get to do this again. How many times had I embraced her like this without even thinking about what it meant or how it made me feel? Like the many hugs, hand holding, and brother/sister conversations Deb and I have exchanged, I've always overlooked the way she makes me feel. It's as if she's been my mirror for my entire life. In her, I've always seen a part of myself that I wish I could be. A loving brother, a friend, a constant. Not a killer. Not a monster or liar or manipulator, although all of those characteristics are true. And that all disappeared when Deb found out who I was. She disappeared, and so had the pedestal she had put me on her entire life. My mirror was cracked, but the pieces are slowly coming back together. It will never be the same as it was before, but at least it's back. _She's_ back.

I pull her closer, tighter, to the point where she lets out a gasp because she can't breathe, and my grip loosens. For what seems like hours, we just sit there and stare at each other, until she speaks,

"I get it, Dexter, I understand," she stops to push some extra hair behind her ears, "I know I've fucking told you that before, and maybe I was just saying shit then, but I mean it this time."

"And you accept it?" I question. She exhales, and I feel her hot breath on my face. Before I know it, she's leaning forward, closer to me, and before I even have time to register what's happening, her lips are on mine. She kisses me, but it's quick, and she pulls away without even looking me in the eyes.

"I accept you," she says, "none of that dark passenger bullshit, or that fucking retarded stuff about you being controlled by it." I smile. Only she can make that sentence sound like a good thing.

"I was beginning to think you really didn't want me in your life anymore," I say, "Deb, you can't ever do that to me again."

"Do what?"

"Disappear on me like that, I was-" but I stop myself short, looking for the word.

"Scared?" Deb asks.

"Yes," I say, with all honesty, "scared I wouldn't ever be able to talk to you again or see you again."

"I was there for you our whole lives, Dex, you're the one that was always disappearing." This time, it's my turn. I lean forward and kiss her on the forehead, like I've done hundreds of times before. But it feels like something different this time. Our whole being feels like something different. The fact that I am actually even feeling something is different.

Maybe Deb really was over her head when she told me she understood why I do what I do. I find her asleep on the floor of her house, no more than a week later, beer bottle in her hand. Where the fuck is Vogel? I think. I did, after all, leave my sister in her hands. I'm about to lift her limp body off the floor when my phone vibrates. It's Quinn. That doesn't seem good.

"Dexter Morgan," I answer professionally.

"Hey, any news on this Hamilton kid yet? It feels like I'm just running in circles." Shit. Last thing I need is someone like Quinn on my ass again. I decide to feed him more lies. I know more about Zach Hamilton than I care to, mainly that he killed his mother in cold blood. He claimed he loved her, but like my brother always used to say: since when did love ever stop people from killing each other?

"Uhh, nothing yet, still looking into it." I hear him let out a sigh on the other end.

"Alright, just keep me posted."

"Will do."

"So how's Deb? I mean she seemed fine the last time I saw her, but I'm just checking in." I glance back down at my sister, who's still unconscious on the floor.

"She's...great, never been better," I fib, "I think she's really getting better." Deb stirs a bit on the floor.

"Good," he says, "just...just please keep me updated on the Hamilton case, I'm going to visit his douche bag father again today."

"Great." I hang up the phone. The less Quinn knows about what Vogel and I are planning on doing with Zach, the better. But for now, it seems like I have another problem on my hands. I place one arm under Deb's legs and warp the other around her shoulders, lifting her up and setting her on the couch. We were a part of this same scenario just a few days ago, except that time I had to handcuff her, afraid she might claw someones eyes out when she woke up. I throw the bottle of beer away and do a quick count of Deb's Xanax medication to make sure she isn't overdosing again.

17 pills. Seems okay to me, but the fact that she's mixing it with the booze isn't great. I return to her side by the couch, just looking at her. She's in the same clothes she had on last night, and I can still see the bruises, although faint now, on her stomach from where El Sapo kicked her. I notice that she's become scarcely thin. Deb's always been lean, but never this lean. I wipe a strand of hair from her forehead, and turn to sit on the chair beside her when her eyes suddenly open. She rubs them with the back of her hand.

"Dex?"

"I'm here," I say, leaning forward in the chair. She exhales.

"Shit, my head hurts like a mother fucker again."

"The drinking doesn't exactly help that," I reply sarcastically. She places her thumbs to her temples and rubs them in circular motions. I don't understand why she keeps putting herself through this pain. Suddenly, Deb's off the couch, attempting to stand, but too drunk to succeed. I'm able to catch her before she hits the floor again.

"Deb, you need to lay down, you're going to hurt yourself." She bursts out laughing, trying to fight her way out of my grasp like a little kid. I have an easier job controlling Harrison.

"What's funny?" I question, and she just stares at me, so I begin to try to get her on the couch again. This is no use. She shoves me in the chest, causing me to stumble backwards a bit, but I catch my footing. A sly look comes across her face; her eyebrows crease up, and her mouth forms a smile.

"What would you fucking do if I told the police about what you did to Yates?" I don't really know how to respond.

"Deb, you're drunk, you don't know what you're saying." I attempt to walk towards her, "Just the other day you told me you understood what I do, now you want to turn me in?"

"Are you scared I will?"

"Scared?"

"Yes, Dexter, are you fucking afraid that I would do something like that?"

"No," I tell her, honestly, "I...trust you not to do that." She smiles.

"And I trust you."

"Okay, that's good, now can you please lay down before you hurt yourself again?"

"Come with me first." She hobbles her way over to her bedroom, and I follow her reluctantly. Although I do begin to feel a bit strange when she shuts the door behind us. "Dexter..." I take a seat on the edge of the bed.

"What?"

"I...I love you." Deb puts both her hands on the side of her face, "Jesus Christ, I really fucking love you."

"I love you, too," I tell her, and it's honest, but I'm not exactly sure where this is going. For some reason she looks angry at me.

"No," she says, "I mean I'm _in love_ with you! I didn't fucking want to be, I wanted to hate you!" She's sobbing now, uncontrollably. "I thought I could get you out of my fucking head by ignoring you! I thought you would eventually just go away, but you keep fucking coming back!" She stops to let the tears wash over her. I want to comfort her, make her feel better, but I don't know how. "You're a goddamned fucking serial killer and I still love you," she cries. I'm not sure what to make of all this; if it's actually Deb telling me this or just the alcohol.

She's right in front of me then, and her hands are on my shoulders. Her lips find mine, only it's nothing like the way she kissed me the night we dumped Yate's body off my boat; it's deeper, hungrier. She's practically sitting on top of me, pushing me down onto her bed. Her hands wrap around the back of my neck, and she deepens the kiss. I should be pushing her away. She begins to kiss my jaw, my neck, and when she bites down on the flesh of my collar bone I can't help but let a small moan escape my lips.

"Deb!" I grab her arms, pushing her off of me a little, "I don't...I don't want you doing something you're going to regret later...I already let you make that mistake."

"This isn't a mistake," she looks me in the eyes for what seems to be the first time tonight, "I know what the fuck I want."

"This is what you want?" She brings her lips back to mine again. I should be pushing her away, but if this is what it takes to get her back than I'm not going to stop her. I can't live without her, I need her for a sense of control.

She tears my shirt, pants, even my boxers off in one simple movement. I let her, because after all, this is what she wants. Her hands are all over me, touching in places I would have never even pictured. My arms remain at my sides, even as she kisses my chest, stomach...everywhere. I let out an occasional moan or growl when she kisses or bites me in certain spot. I've touched her in many intimate ways before; held her hand or pressed her to my chest in a hug, but hugs certainty aren't sexual. It's not until she's on top of me, and I'm inside her, that I actually feel something. Her eyes meet mine as she moves faster, her nails scraping down my forearms. Our breathing is heavy, and I finally remove my arms from my sides and grasp them at her hips.

"Deb..." I moan, "jeez..." She smiles and brings her lips back to mine. This time I kiss her back with just as much intensity. I chew on her bottom lip, kiss her chin and nose, and then her mouth again.

"Dexter, oh my fucking god," she breathes into me. I grab her and flip us around so this time I'm on top. I push into her, hard, and move faster and faster with each stroke. All I can hear her saying is my name, over and over again. Something I always want to hear her say. We both reach our climax and I fall on top of her, careful not to squish her, and wrap her in a hug. It's not long before we're both sound asleep.

The bed is empty the following morning. I glance at the clock on Deb's nightstand, which reads 7:46 a.m. I don't have to be to work today until 11. Masuka said he would cover for me. I'm about to close my eyes again when I realize Jamie has been with Harrison all night. I jump up and grab my phone, putting my pants and shirt back on in the process, dialing Jamie's number.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Jamie, listen I'm really sorry, I got-" I stop for a moment and remember the events from last night, "caught up at work again, I'll make it up to."

"Oh, no that's okay, Dexter, I tried calling you, I brought Harrison over to my place for the night."

"And Dan!" I hear my son yell in the background.

"Yeah, and Dan," Jamie laughs, "Angel came over and we all had dinner together, it really wasn't a problem."

"Glad you guys had fun, and thanks, Jamie, it means a lot; I mean all that you do for him."

"Ah, no problem," she replies, "someone wants to say hi to you, though."

"Hi, daddy," Harrison says.

"Hey, buddy, how was the sleepover at Jamie's? Were you good?"

"Yes, we built a fort, but Dan wasn't very nice, he kept tearing it down."

"Oh no."

_"Holy fucking hot!" _

I hear Deb's voice coming from the kitchen.

"Well maybe Dan needs to take a timeout," I say, "I'll be home later tonight, love you." I hang up the phone and stroll into the living room. I turn to see Deb in the kitchen, leaning on the counter. We just look at each other for what feels like forever.

"Morning," I try.

"Uhh, morning."

I don't know what else to say, but I feel like it would be better to not mention the sex part last night.

"So," I say, and Deb looks up at me, "I'm going to wor-"

"Can we just not fucking do this?" I blow out a breath of air.

"Not do what?"

"Gee, I don't know...Pretend like nothing happened last night?!" She says to me.

"Okay," I agree, "well, what do you want me to say?" I sit down at the table, and she just looks at me, raising an eyebrow.

"Holy shit."

"Holy shit what?"

"_We had sex_, that's what, you fucking moron".

"You didn't seem to be complaining about it last night," I mumble, and silently sip the cup of coffee in front of me. Deb laughs,

"Well you weren't stopping me..." I look at her, and she smiles.

"Because I knew it would make you happy."

Her smile slowly becomes a frown. Hurt registers in her eyes, though I'm not quite sure why.

"You...you only did it just to make me happy?" She whispers, searching my eyes for an answer.

"Yeah, I mean, you told me that's what you wanted."

"So it wasn't because you love me then?" I'm confused by her response.

"Deb, I-"

"Don't," she stops me, "I wish I could take it all back, too." And with that, she heads out the front door.

I can't seem to do anything right. Deb wants me to love her in a way I'm not even sure I'm capable of. Whatever happened last night, whatever I felt while we were making love, how am I supposed to know if that was real? It was part of the moment, and I got carried away, like the time I kept clobbering a man on my table even though he was already dead after the first blow. But Deb isn't one of my victims. She's one of the only people in this world to actually have the ability to make me feel. Maybe that's something worth considering.


End file.
